


Down on the Ranch

by foggynite



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Farm/Ranch, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Corporate Scum Wraith, Harlequin challenge, Horse Trainer Teyla, Lawyer Elizabeth, M/M, Murder Mystery, Ranch Hand Bates, Ranch Hand Ford, Rancher John, Rodney McKay is his own warning, Scientist Rodney, Sheriff Kolya
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-26 21:14:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30112134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foggynite/pseuds/foggynite
Summary: Rodney inherits his Uncle Marshall's ranch, but things are... complicated.
Relationships: Rodney McKay/John Sheppard
Comments: 6
Kudos: 42





	Down on the Ranch

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written 9/20/05 for a Livejournal Harlequin Romance challenge.

In the fading sunlight, Rodney checked the coordinates displayed on his GPS again. 

"You've got to be kidding me," he muttered, pulling his SUV onto the grassy shoulder of the country road. "This can't be right..."

Frowning, he dug through the briefcase on the passenger seat until he found the letter from his uncle's lawyer. He grimaced when the included directions agreed with the blinking screen mounted on his dash.

"This has to be some sort of joke."

Settling back in the ergonomically enhanced driver's seat, he stared at the dilapidated sign ten feet from his grill and went through the list of associates he had pissed off who also had access to his mail. When that brought to mind too many names, he narrowed it to the people he had pissed off since he'd returned from Antarctica. 

Still too many names.

He was tempted to say Samantha Carter, but he didn't think she was the type to kick a man when he was down. Kavanaugh, on the other hand... 

Just the thought of his subordinate's smirking expression as Rodney returned to the Denver lab in disgrace was enough to raise his blood pressure. Yeah, he could see Kavanaugh being petty enough to switch the directions after the gossip mill had ground Rodney into a pulp.

That had to be it, because there was no way the teeming wilderness spreading as far as Rodney's eye could see was the thriving horse farm his mother had spoken of so warmly in his youth. 

"Circle A," the peeling wooden sign proclaimed in once cheerful colors. A simple logo of a horse with wings was painted underneath the ranch title, and Rodney's gut sank.

"Great. Just great."

Kavanaugh wasn't that creative anyway.

With a sigh, he pulled away from the shoulder and turned down the overgrown drive, switching his headlights on. Low-hanging tree branches occasionally clacked on his roof and gravel pinged off his under-carriage when he hit one of the many potholes. He winced at the damage to he was going to find tomorrow.

The drive went on for nearly a mile, cutting across densely weeded meadows, and was framed by trees that had perhaps been ornate in earlier days, but now resembled something out of an HP Lovecraft novel in the encroaching dusk. Thankfully, the local flora thinned out closer to the main compound, which already had its outdoor lights on.

Rodney parked next to a rusty pick-up truck and eyed the two-story farmhouse warily. 

"I guess this is it," he grumbled as he snapped his brief case shut, then climbed out with it. He just wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible.

His steps faltered when he realized that there were no lights actually on in the house. Were they already asleep? Stopping, he looked towards the flood lights of the outer buildings and debated searching what were probably stables. Surely there were too many high-powered lights on for the day's work to be concluded? Where was everyone?

The place was eerily quiet, only the hum of insects and occasional horse snorts in the distance, which is why he freaked when a voice demanded,

"Can I help you?"

"Jesus!" 

Wielding his briefcase in front of him like a shield, Rodney looked frantically around. The dark shape of a man was standing on the other side of the drive, in the shadows of the outer buildings. A cowboy hat obscured his features, but he was of slight build and his posture was tense, a coiled rope dangling from his hands.

"Are you _trying_ to kill me? What if I had a heart condition?" Rodney snapped when he got his voice back. Eyeing the man warily, he continued without waiting for a response. "Dr. Rodney McKay, in from Denver. I intended to arrive earlier but was delayed due to an incident involving a herd of cows and a feed truck that you _don't_ need to hear the details on. Haven't you people ever heard of road signs, anyway? Do you know how difficult it is to find this place in the dark? Elizabeth Weir notified me last week that Marshall had passed on and asked that I come immediately to settle some paperwork. This _is_ the Circle A Ranch, correct? Of course it is, with my luck."

There was the customary second of awkward, stunned silence while Rodney drew breath to continue, but then the cowboy hat was bobbing in a friendlier manner.

"Oh. Yeah. You must be the nephew they said was coming. Sorry about that; I mistook you for another of the Rathe's lawyers."

Rodney frowned as his rant was derailed. The man came across the drive and into the light, and Rodney realized he couldn't be more than twenty-five. Then the guy smiled, and his estimate dropped to twenty. Peeling off a leather work glove, the kid held out his hand, which Rodney grasped after lowering his briefcase.

"Aiden Ford, sir." Ford had a firm grip and Rodney tried not to wince. "I'm just a grunt around here. You'll be wanting to talk to Shep about Ms. Weir and all that, but he's not back in yet. Teyla's around, though. She can get you settled in a guest room."

"There's no need for that. I hadn't planned on staying for any extended length of time," Rodney said quickly. "I actually live only two hours away, and it's one of the few constants in my universe that my incompetent subordinates will find a way to muck up all of my experimental data if I don't physically supervise them at least once every five hours. I'm already operating on borrowed time as it is, but I'm assuming nothing's imploded since I haven't received any phone calls-Oh god, I _do_ get reception out here, don't I?" He ripped his cell phone out of his jacket pocket. "I should get reception everywhere except Guam, but Fate has been notably merciless to me recently. Oh, okay. I do. Thank you. One thing in my favor."

Ford was obviously trying not to grin, but Rodney was too busy imagining the chaos of his lab to care much. The mess Kavanaugh had made while he was away last time had Rodney practically living in the lab the past week. Well, living there more so than usual. He replaced the cell phone with aplomb and tried to appear friendly.

"Right." His grin was more of a grimace. "So. Where is Mr. Sheppard?"

"He was checking fences earlier, so he should be back soon. I can let you into the house if you want--" 

Ford was interrupted by a woman's voice coming from the largest of the buildings.

"Aiden? Did you find the bridle?"

The voice trailed off as the owner stepped out of the open stable doors. The neutral expression she adopted when she noticed Rodney was obvious in the building's harsh lights.

"This here's Dr. McKay, ma'am," Ford explained, waving the leather Rodney had mistaken for a rope in his direction. "Mr. Sumner's nephew."

"Ah." She offered Rodney a tight smile as she joined them. "I am Teyla Emmagan. It is a pleasure to meet you."

She had an accent and was pretty in an earthy sort of way, one that Rodney could appreciate aesthetically. Certainly not buxom and blonde, but fair enough. Her eyes were sharp, though.

He nodded. "Dr. Rodney McKay."

"May I offer my condolences on your loss, doctor. Your uncle was a well-respected man in this community and is sorely missed." She had just the right amount of sympathy in her tone, and Rodney found himself floundering.

"Th-thank you. But I have to admit, Marshall and I weren't very close. We fell out of touch--" He cut himself off and shrugged. "Well, we hadn't spoken for the past few years. Unfortunately, I was out of the country until very recently, so I hadn't heard anything until Ms. Weir contacted me. She said that Mr. Sheppard is overseeing the daily running of the ranch now?" 

"Yes, John was Marshall's general manager, and will continue in an administrative capacity while the legal issues are being sorted out." She paused, glancing at Ford, but spoke again before Rodney could. "I must admit I am relieved that Elizabeth was finally able to contact you, Dr. McKay. These past two months have been rather trying for all of us here. Having the Circle A land rights resolved is a priority for everyone in Pegasus, as I am sure Elizabeth told you."

"Yes, well," Rodney shifted uncomfortably. "I was hoping to speak to Mr. Sheppard about that."

"Speak to me about what?" 

Ford and Teyla turned to the man sauntering out of the stable, and Rodney tried not to stare.

John Sheppard was tall, dark, had his Stetson at a rakish angle, and filled out his jeans to a sickeningly hot degree. He was obviously one of those rugged outdoors men that looked good clean-shaven or with stubble, who hung out in bars having bleach-blonde women with too much make-up throw themselves at him, and had probably attempted numerous times to shove guys like Rodney into their gym lockers during high school.

"I'm Sheppard," the man in question was saying. He certainly didn't look enthusiastic to see Rodney. "And you are?"

Rodney wasn't prepared for the visceral tug the bored drawl evoked in him, and he hated himself for reacting to it. 

"Dr. Rodney McKay. I believe Ms. Weir informed you I would be arriving to speak with you this afternoon?" He said tartly.

"Afternoon, yeah. Not seven at night." Sheppard's tone bordered on sarcastic, and Rodney felt his cheeks flushing. 

"Yes, well. There was an accident that tied up traffic on the interstate." Lifting his briefcase, he waved at Sheppard with his free hand. "I _am_ here now, however, so if you wouldn't mind discussing a few issues with me, the sooner I'll leave, and we can both return to our normal schedules."

"Sounds good." Sheppard wiped his hands on his jeans and started walking towards the house. "Teyla, could you look in on Pegretta for me?"

"Of course."

"Thanks. Ford, do the water and feed check before you turn in. Stackhouse is less than a half hour out."

"Yessir."

"C'mon, McKay. Might as well do this inside." Without a backward glance, Sheppard went into the side screen door of the house. Frowning, Rodney followed his retreating back, while Teyla and Ford amiably returned to the stables.

"Mr. Sheppard, it's my understanding from Ms. Weir that Marshall left you a portion of the ranch," Rodney said as he entered what turned out to be the kitchen. 

Sheppard was already rummaging in the pantry, tapping his Stetson against his leg and stirring up dust. Rodney paused a moment to take in the man's disturbing case of hat hair before continuing. 

"I also know that my sister has spoken with you about her desire to sell her portion and that nothing can be done to the property without the consent of all three landholders -"

"Yeah, she has." Sheppard drawled without looking up. "And I told her I wasn't planning on selling out to Rathe anytime soon, so I'm afraid you've wasted a trip, doctor." 

He finally turned to Rodney, holding a familiar-looking cardboard box wrapped in plastic, and asked with a smirk, "You don't mind if I eat dinner, do you? You can help yourself if you're hungry."

Obviously, he expected Rodney to turn him down. Rolling his eyes, Rodney started poking through the boxes in the pantry. "An entire cupboard of MREs? That you willingly eat, too. Let me guess, marines? Or maybe just brain damage? Oh good, beef stew."

Sheppard just raised an eyebrow. 

"Most of my work includes field research for the military, Mr. Sheppard. While not my first choice when at home, MREs are in the edible foodstuffs category…"

"Honestly, I'm just too lazy to do dishes." Sheppard said as he set a pot of water on the stove to boil and dropped his entrée packet in. "Plus, you can order these in bulk online."

Rodney paused in opening his selection. "You have internet access out here?"

"And indoor plumbing, too."

Hot _and_ sarcastic. Rodney really hated himself. If it wasn't for Jeannie, he wouldn't even be out there.

Coming to stand next to the rancher, he tried again. "Look, Mr. Sheppard, here's my situation: First, I live two hours away from here and my current job is extremely demanding of my time. Second, I really want nothing to do with my family, even if they're almost all dead by now. 

"Third, and most importantly, I have no desire to look at a horse, let alone own one. Or a ranch of many. They smell weird, they're ill-tempered, and are definitely high maintenance. Frankly, I'm the only person in my life allowed to be like that. Well, and my cat. Who would not be happy if I tried to move her again. 

"So, as you can see, it's impossible for me to be actively involved in this endeavor. And while I considered being a silent partner, my sister also shares my predicament only to a greater degree, so unless I can convince you to agree to sell your share, she'll keep hounding me about this. It's not a problem when I'm away at work, but she visited my apartment, Mr. Sheppard. Something needs to be done before she thinks she can continue speaking to me."

Sheppard was quiet as he watched the bubbles rise around the metal pouch. After a moment, he looked at Rodney. 

"Y'know, I didn't realize Sumner even had family left. I always just assumed he didn't. I mean, I knew the man for over ten years, but I didn't know the old hardass had a will, let alone one with me and his sister's kids in it. So I've been wondering why he did that-- Included me. Included you. Over a decade, I never heard a word about either of you, and he goes and leaves you each a third of something he worked damn hard for his entire life. Have either of you stopped to think about that?"

Sheppard probably wasn't intentionally trying to wound Rodney, but the words were echoes of everything that had been going through Rodney's head since he read the letter a week ago. It stung.

"No, Mr. Sheppard, I haven't," Rodney snapped. "I've been busy living my life, which I've currently put on hold to deal with this mess that, incidentally, I didn't ask for. I'd like to say I'm sorry the man died, and I know the people who knew him must be grieving, but I didn't know him, so I'm not. 

"Now why don't you explain to me why you have issues selling to the Rathe Corporation? Their offer is three times what we'd be asking for, and with your share, you could afford to build a better ranch filled with dozens of smelly horses and still have a profit. Besides, according to Ms. Weir, most of your neighbors are planning on selling, so you're just going to be surrounded by developments anyway."

"Some things aren't about money, McKay," Sheppard said with a scowl. "Did Elizabeth tell you exactly how Marshall died?"

Rodney nodded. "A riding accident. Yet another reason for me to never go near a horse."

"Yeah," Sheppard drawled, "A riding accident. The M.E. decided that his horse spooked, and he fell off, hitting his head. He went into a coma and died."

Rodney waved his hands. "Yes, yes, it's very tragic, but what does that have to do with selling the ranch?"

"Look, a lot of strange stuff has been happening around here the past eight months. Marshall's death is just the worst of it, and no one in charge has given it much consideration. Apparently, we're just prone to accidents on the Circle A."

"You think Marshall's death wasn't an accident." Rodney stated, handing over his beef stew pouch. "Do you have any evidence to back that claim up? Have you told the authorities?"

Frowning at his tone, Sheppard stood up straighter. "We might be a little on edge, but we're not crazy. Something's going on."

"Like what?" Rodney scoffed. "Crop circles made by little green men? You're in the middle of Colorado farmland, Mr. Sheppard. It's not exactly teeming with crime."

"I'm talking about sabotage, McKay," Sheppard snapped. "It started out with fences getting knocked down overnight, wires getting cut. Stuff that could have just been due for maintenance. Then a lot of our staff started getting job offers from other ranches at salaries they'dve been fools to refuse."

"So you have a high turn-over rate. Gee, I can't imagine why-"

"Four months ago," Sheppard interrupted him sharply, "We found our best stud, Ima Dusty Zippo, dead in his pasture. Dr. Beckett said it was loco-poisoning, but Dusty hadn't shown any symptoms and we couldn't find any locoweed in his pasture. That might have started the rumors that we're mistreating our animals, but animal control came out with a list of anonymous tips that were totally unfounded." 

Retrieving the entrees from the pot, Sheppard handed Rodney the beef stew and took his own to the table. "We disproved all of the accusations, but non-locals got shy about doing business with us and our profits started to drop. We ended up selling a lot of our herd and having to let good, loyal workers go because we were having problems making overhead, and now we're short-handed. We only have six stallions and three mares left, plus one gelding we board."

"So you assume the Rathe Corporation is involved." Rodney sat down across from him and opened his pouch.

"Think about it, McKay. Those rumors didn't start themselves. You said yourself that Rathe's offer is more than we could ask for now. But, consider the fact that this time last year? The ranch was worth over twice what they're quoting. Factor in that Marshall was the loudest local discouraging other ranchers in the area from selling their land, and yeah. I think Rathe is involved. Seems kinda convenient for them that he had an 'accident' on one of his 'mistreated' mares, doesn't it?"

Thinking back, Ms. Weir _had_ sounded reticent about discussing the corporation with Rodney when she informed him of Jeannie's wishes. As a lawyer she probably wouldn't have stated her direct opinion on their ethics even if asked, but Rodney had been focused on getting the whole situation resolved as quickly as possible and hadn't thought to question her.

Deflating, Sheppard sighed and suddenly looked older, weary. More real. He slouched in his chair.

"Look, it's getting late--For me, at least--and I have an early morning tomorrow. So, I'll ask you for the same thing that I asked your sister." 

Rodney raised an eyebrow, mouth busy eating.

"Time," Sheppard said fiercely. "That's all I want. Give me some time to sort things out on this end. Let me dig up some dirt on these guys, let me _prove_ that Marshall's death wasn't just some accident, and then I'll agree to sit down and talk this out with both of you."

Studying the man across from him, Rodney formulated a response. There was too much background information missing on the situation for him to draw a solid conclusion about Sheppard's character. Sure, he sounded sincere enough, but so did most serial killers. Was he trying to psyche Rodney and Jeannie out, maybe get them to sign over their portions of the land? What advantage would this conspiracy theory give him?

Rodney hadn't known Marshall well, but the man had treated him with respect at their few family gatherings and he had seemed to be a rational human being, if inclined to a very black and white way of thinking. And it looked like Marshall had trusted Sheppard enough to include him in his will, which indicated more than a professional relationship. Comparatively, relations between Rodney's mother and her younger brother had been strained long before her children were born, so Rodney hadn't had much chance to visit with the American side of his family. For Marshall to leave him and Jeannie part of the ranch was just… boggling. 

The will had been recently drafted, too, according to Ms. Weir. Which, it occurred to Rodney, would implicate Sheppard if there was evidence of foul play discovered, so why would the man want to stir things up? 

"Why are you doing this?" He asked abruptly. "Your loyalty is admirable, Mr. Sheppard, but you _are_ aware that you have an extremely circumstantial case with little chance of success?"

"I'm doing it because it's the right thing to do," Sheppard said stubbornly. "I served with Marshall when I was in the Air Force. We saved each other's lives a dozen times, and he offered me a job when most of my buddies wouldn't give me the time of day. Sure, he was a hardass, but he was fair and he gave respect where it was due, and I'm not gonna let him go out like this. I'm not."

Clever enough to play the fallen brethren card, or perhaps Mr. Sheppard was just utterly naïve about hostile take-overs. 'The right thing to do.' Who actually talked like that these days? Rodney blinked at him. 

"Look, gimme a few more weeks," Sheppard continued earnestly. "I've already got people willing to talk about the job offers and rumors; I just need concrete evidence of sabotage. I'm not even asking you to help. Just let me do this."

Apparently, Rodney also had a thing for the noble type, too (which was rather surprising, given that their life expectancies were notoriously low). He really, really hated himself. 

"All right, I'll talk to Jeannie, tell her I refuse to sign anything yet," he finally said, and the grin that spread across Sheppard's face left Rodney feeling short of breath. 

"You're an okay guy, McKay."

"Yes, yes." Rodney brushed the compliment aside. "I'll also be instructing her to call _you_ with any complaints."

"Fair enough. I never answer my phone anyway." 

"Yeah, I'd noticed that."

Then Rodney noticed that, when smiling and relaxed, John Sheppard had very bright grey eyes, offsetting the blue of his t-shirt. No one had any right to look that good covered in grime with ridiculous hat hair. Rodney needed to leave, because obviously the horse fumes were getting to his brain.

"Well, as that's all I had to discuss with you, Mr. Sheppard, I really should be going. Who knows what my condition my lab is in by now." 

He cleared his throat as he stood up, gathering his trash. He pocketed the meal bar for the road, pausing to double check his cellphone, and grabbed his briefcase. Sheppard rose when he did, coming to stand next to him, and he smelled of sweat and what must be horses. Rodney sneezed. 

"Gesundheit." Sheppard held out his hand. "Thanks for coming."

"Err. Yes. Well, thank you for dinner, such as it was, and everything." Rodney clasped the calloused hand. "Right. So. I'll just be in touch later, then." 

"Later," Sheppard affirmed and saw Rodney to the door. "You gonna be all right driving back this late?"

"I assure you, Mr. Sheppard, I am fully capable of operating a motor vehicle."

Sheppard just gave him an amused nod, lounging in the doorway as Rodney walked to his SUV. Settling back in the driver's seat, Rodney paused as Sheppard stepped away into the kitchen again. Sighing, the scientist twisted the ignition key and backed out, headlights flashing over the peeling sideboards of the stables.

It looked like his quick resolution would take longer than he thought.

~~~

Weekends normally meant that Rodney could go into the office and work on his personal projects without being interrupted by annoying subordinates, relishing the thought of having the coffee machine all to himself. The Saturday following his visit to the ranch found him packing a duffel bag and shoving a pile of files into his computer case. Files he had collected after calling in a few favors from his military and FBI contacts.

The ranch looked even rougher in broad daylight than it had the previous night. The rusty pick-up was still in the driveway, so he parked next to it again, but this time he went straight to the stables after getting out.

The place smelled like hay and horses, a sweet musky scent that made Rodney's nose itch. Sneezing violently, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to cover his mouth and nose. There were over a dozen stalls standing empty inside, so he quickly made his way to the open back doors. 

Teyla was guiding a stallion around in the largest corral, with Sheppard leaning against the rail on the far side, watching. The rancher had Ray-bans on under his Stetson, one booted foot hooked on the lowest rung of the fence. Squinting against the sunlight, Rodney waved to him and walked around the outside.

"Hey," Sheppard kept his elbows propped on the fence. "Didn't expect to see you out here again."

"Yes, well." Rodney drew back his shoulders. "I was due to go on sabbatical this week anyway and given your current difficulties, I thought it best to lend my brilliance to your cause while I worked."

"Really." 

Sheppard looked unimpressed and Rodney quickly continued. 

"I prefer a room with windows facing west, I don't consider any time before noon a civilized hour, and my cat will be joining me if the accommodations prove suitable enough for her."

Sheppard pursed his lips thoughtfully, the silence drawn out as he stared at the scientist. At least, that's what Rodney assumed he was doing, since it was difficult to tell with the sunglasses. 

"All right," he finally said, and Rodney was grateful that he didn't pursue his reason to stay further. "We can use an extra set of hands. You ever worked around horses before?"

He hoped his expression conveyed the proper derision. "What part of 'I don't want to own a horse, let alone touch one' did you not understand?"

"Grooming's easy, McKay." The cajoling grin weakened Rodney's resolve. "Don't worry, Ford and Stackhouse can show you the ropes."

"I was thinking of assisting in a more… managerial capacity." The other man frowned. "I have a PhD in astrophysics, Mr. Sheppard. I've never had occasion to try, but I'm sure business accounting is no harder than quantum theory."

"You'd be surprised." Yet Sheppard was nodding. "Okay, doctor. I took over the books when Marshall passed on, but it'd make my job a heckuva lot easier if I had some help with them."

"I'll do what I can, then."

"Great." 

Sheppard returned his attention to Teyla in the corral. Rodney followed his gaze, watching as the petite woman commanded the horse to stop and back up, pivoting on its right hind leg. She walked it forward again, pausing to repeat the pivoting on the other side.

"Is there a reason she's making it go in circles?" He finally had to ask.

"We're training Gabe for the regional Quarter Horse circuit season opener in four weeks." Sheppard sighed. "We were planning on having another stallion entered, but our assistant trainer moved on."

"Another piece to your conspiracy?" 

Looking at him askance, Sheppard shrugged. "Maybe. Allina's been trying to hire Sora for a few years now, so I wasn't too surprised when she jumped ship. It just sucks for us, since we could use the good PR right about now."

"Ah. Of course. I take it this circuit is important?" He'd contemplated doing some research into Quarter horse breeding before he came out, but the week had been hectic. He was going to have to rely on Sheppard until he could get on the internet.

"Best way to fight the rumors is to place in show, right? Show 'em we still got what it takes." The rancher shifted. "It might not seem like much, but it's our best option at the moment."

John's earnest frustration made Rodney think of the files in his duffel bag. Major John Sheppard, USAF, court-martialed for disobeying direct orders. Returning to help two men who had already been written off as lost causes and sacrificing his career to get them out alive. 

That sort of bravery, Rodney knew he didn't have. But something in the set of the other man's jaw made him want to try.

Or maybe he had been standing out in the sun too long and needed to eat something. 

"Well, if you don't mind, I'd like to get settled in. Is there a specific room I should use?"

"Guest one's the first on the right upstairs, unless you want Marshall's. His is at the end of the hall." Sheppard pushed himself away from the fence. "C'mon, I'll show you."

"You've seen the kitchen, and the TV's through there. We've just got the one bathroom upstairs…"

Carrying his laptop and duffel bag, Rodney followed Sheppard up the rickety wooden stairs. They creaked with each step he took, and he distracted himself from the view in front of him by eyeing the chipped plaster on the walls with dismay.

"Alright, I can understand the overgrown wilderness in the front yard, but is this house even fit for human habitation anymore? I'm not going to wake up in the middle of the living room, am I?"

"You'll be fine. This house has weathered more problems than you can imagine." Opening the door to their right, Sheppard waved him in. "You'll have to forgive the lack of a turn-down service. We weren't expecting guests."

Ignoring the pointed remark, Rodney dumped his duffel on the old quilt covering the bed and went to open a window. He hadn't realized he would be living without central air again. At least there was a desk for his laptop.

"This is fine, Mr. Sheppard."

"I'm right across the hall," Sheppard drawled, making himself comfortable against the door frame. "The office is next to me and Marshall's room is at the end of the hall. Everyone else stays down in the barracks, but Teyla has her own cottage. I'm usually out of here by seven, so you'll have to make your own grub. I'll show you where all the books are tonight."

Rodney nodded. "Fair enough. I'll just be unpacking, then."

He thought Sheppard would leave after that, but the man lingered as Rodney unzipped his bag. He could feel the other man's scrutiny, but he still tensed when Sheppard finally spoke up.

"Why are you here, McKay? Seriously. I thought you had that demanding job in Denver to worry about."

Swallowing, Rodney stared down at the files in his hands. "I told you, I was going on sabbatical anyway. I've been writing a textbook on theoretical physics and it's ready for editing, which would be just as easy here as in the city."

The resulting silence was expectant. With a frown, Rodney turned to meet Sheppard's laconic gaze.

"I looked into your situation this week, Mr. Sheppard, and I gathered some information on the Rathe Corporation that you'll find interesting."

That pulled Sheppard from his lounging. "Like what?" 

"Apparently this isn't the first time suspicious activity has accompanied their land acquisitions. Reports were filed in Mississippi, Utah, and Wyoming following their development propositions. A man died in Utah and there were a dozen injury reports, but other than that the accusations centered around livestock tampering. Unfortunately, no one has been able to prove anything."

"So how do you know about all of it?" Sheppard drawled.

"I have my ways." Rodney smiled tightly. "But this means that if you can find hard evidence, you might have a substantial case as well as other ranchers willing to testify. A class action suit is stronger than one lone man grieving for his friend."

Sheppard regarded Rodney intently. "One thing you should know, McKay. There's a group of us in town that are refusing to sell. A few of them have had problems, too, but no one wants to speak up because Sheriff Kolya is a might unsympathetic to our plight. He's the one that told the M.E. that Marshall's death was an accident."

"So he might be on someone's payroll."

"Looks like."

"What exactly happened to Marshall?" Rodney asked abruptly. "Why are you so convinced it _wasn't_ an accident?"

Looking out the window, Sheppard grimaced. "Marshall went out to that pasture to meet one of our neighbors, Allina, just for some routine inspection where the properties join. But she called to cancel after he had already left, and Bates rode out to tell him. Only when Bates got there, the pasture gate was jammed shut so he had to stop to clear it. Then he heard Marshall yell."

Sheppard's voice was striving for a dissociated tone, but his grief was visible around his eyes.

"When Bates found him, Marshall was off his mare, clinging to the saddle. He tried to say something about a 'them,' even waved his hand, but then he collapsed. The internal bleeding had caused too much damage and he was brain dead by the time he arrived at the hospital. He was in a coma for three weeks before he was disconnected from life support."

A decision, Rodney knew now, that had been left to Sheppard at Marshall's behest. The man had given Sheppard durable power of attorney and detailed instructions in the event of his incapacitation. 

"Anyway," Sheppard cleared his throat. "The mare he was riding had puncture wounds on her neck and her flank that Dr. Beckett couldn't identify. The police didn't even look over the scene for evidence of foul play. They said she was bitten by a large horse fly and spooked. Your uncle's death was ruled accidental and forgotten." 

He finally looked at Rodney again. "Bates was worked up enough that we looked the area over the next day. We found a fresh trail in an adjacent field, too small for horses and no sign of deer, leading right up to the pasture fence with a few cigarette butts on the ground. Someone had obviously been waiting, but none of our people were supposed to be out there that day. Hell, we hadn't even been using those fields for weeks. There was also no reason for Marshall to close the gate behind himself if he was just going to check the fences, which means that someone else did and jammed it before Bates got there."

"Are you sure you're not just looking for what you want to believe?" 

The flash of hurt in Sheppard's eyes was damning.

"I know what it looks like, but I'm not some crazy conspiracy theorist, McKay," he snapped. It was the strongest reaction Rodney had witnessed from him so far. "Someone knew Marshall would be out there long before he left the house, and I don't think the wounds on his horse were accidental--"

"I know, I know." Rodney interrupted. "And I believe you, but I had to ask. Did you document anything, like the cigarette butts or the gate tampering?"

"We took pictures, if that's what you mean. There wasn't anything else we could do."

"I don't know how admissible it would be in court, but it's a start," Rodney offered lamely. 

"Yeah." Sheppard watched Rodney a moment more, then gathered himself. "I'll let you finish unpacking. Me and Bates will be checking fences later, but I can show you where everything in the office is when we get back."

Then he was gone, boots clumping down the rickety stairs, and Rodney pulled out his laptop. He figured he could devote a few hours to his manuscript before trying to unravel the mess his life was in.

It was Monday afternoon before Rodney actually sat down to look at the books. Sheppard had given him the passwords for all of their computer accounts, and the hard copies of all the paperwork were neatly filed. It was obvious where Sheppard had taken over for Marshall, if only because the math was suddenly perfect and didn't give Rodney a headache. 

He spent the next three days poring over the files, organizing expenditures by type and devising charts for his own reference. It was easier to think of the entire thing as an equation that needed solving rather than remember the grief in Sheppard's eyes.

On Thursday evening, he leaned back in the office chair and stretched, then picked up the phone to willingly call his sister for the first time in years.

~~~

"What are our alternatives to selling?" Rodney demanded when he found Sheppard grooming one of the horses in the stable. 

Pausing with curry comb in hand, Sheppard blinked at him. "Excuse me?"

"If Jeannie and I were to decide to not sell our shares, then what would you do?" 

"Well… Obviously I intend to stick things out here," Sheppard drawled, scratching at his neck. "We could establish a way to split the profits with you and Jeannie, but it wouldn't be much right now. We're not in the red yet, and with some work, we can get back up to our previous figures." He resumed brushing out the stallion's coat. "The local crews don't believe the rumors, but we'll have to put real effort into winning our non-local clients back. Hope Star Farm's hosting the season opener of the Quarter Horse circuit-- That's the show in three weeks-- and placing there would definitely help us since it's one of the state's biggest events."

"So, you would focus on repairing the ranch's reputation, a great deal of which depends on preventing more sabotage," Rodney pointed out sharply. "If your current feed and equipment expenditures are anything to go by, some part of this ranch is tampered with on an almost weekly basis."

"You think I haven't noticed?" Sheppard grumbled. "Our feed rots even when we lock it up, our vehicles keep breaking down. But right now our main priority is protecting the horses we have left. There haven't been any more incidents since Dusty died, but there's also been someone watching them twenty-four hours a day. It's not like we can be everywhere at once. It's just the five of us. We cut back on the number of pastures we use at a time to make it easier to keep an eye on them, and we trade off the overnight shift on a weekly basis."

Which was probably why every looked so worn around the edges.

"Is it possible that someone here at the ranch is responsible?"

"No. No way. It's just me, Teyla, Ford, Bates, and Stackhouse left. All of them except Teyla served with either me or Sumner, and she wouldn't betray us. None of them would sell us out." 

From Sheppard's expression, that was not a suggestion Rodney would want to repeat. Ever.

"So that means an outsider is getting onto the property, unseen, and going about their business while someone's on watch." Rodney frowned. "Have you thought about a guard dog?"

The set of Sheppard's mouth was grim. "We _had_ one."

"Oh." 

"Hey, Shep," Ford shouted from outside, derailing the conversation. "We've got company."

The distaste in his voice was apparent, and Sheppard and Rodney shared a look. Tossing the curry comb to Ford as the younger man came in, Sheppard sauntered out to the drive with Rodney a few steps behind.

"Can I help you, gentlemen?" The full Sheppard drawl greeted the two men in expensive suits. 

They smiled wanly in unison. The effect was creepy.

"We're here to speak with Dr. McKay," the taller one said, apparently the mouthpiece of the set.

"That would be me," Rodney spoke up before Sheppard could. "And I'm not expecting any visitors."

"We're representatives of the Rathe Corporation, Dr. McKay. We contacted you previously on behalf of-"

"Yes, yes. And I informed you last week that I wasn't interested in listening, which still holds true, by the way. So I gather that you're either here a) because you don't know how to process commands, or b) all the members of your idiot firm only have one brain cell between them and this week is not your turn. Let me make this simple: I am not interested in selling to the Rathe Corporation, nor am I interested in being harassed by them. And, as you are standing on private property, I think it would be in your best interests to leave. Now." 

He crossed his arms over his chest until the mouthpiece nodded and said, "We will convey your response to our employer, Dr. McKay. We bid you good day."

"It would be better if you weren't still in my sight."

As the taillights of their black Mercedes faded, Sheppard turned to him with a smirk that made Rodney want to preen. Then the look on Sheppard's face turned speculative and nearly suggestive, and the astrophysicist felt his cheeks flush, which only made Sheppard's grin turn smug. 

With a wag of his eyebrows, the rancher left Rodney standing flabbergasted in the driveway.

~~~

Rodney didn't see Sheppard until dinner that night, where it was Rodney's turn to boil the MREs. Luckily, he was standing at the stove when the other man came into the kitchen, so he could blame his heated face on the steam.

"Hey."

"Hello," Rodney responded, the epitome of suave. 

A fact lost on Sheppard, obviously.

"We're going into town tomorrow," Sheppard said as he hitched himself up onto the kitchen counter. "You need anything?"

"Actual food would be nice," the scientist muttered, peering down at the boiling water. "Aren't there supposed to be fresh fruit stands everywhere in the backwoods?"

"I'll see what I can get." 

"But no citrus," Rodney said vehemently. "Not unless you want me to turn funny colors, vomit like the girl in the Exorcist, and asphyxiate when my airways swell shut."

"No citrus. Got it." Sheppard was looking at him like he’d grown a second head, but then the rancher shrugged. "Why don't you just come with us?"

"I suppose I could spare the time." 

A comfortable silence descended, and Rodney cleared his throat. "So I've been thinking, Mr. Sheppard. If I'm to continue assisting you, I feel I need to have a better understanding of the Circle A operations."

"You want to learn about the Circle A operations." Sheppard repeated, then grinned devilishly. "I think I can help with that. I can take you around the property if you want, give you a taste of a real trail ride."

"I was thinking more along the lines of us sitting at the kitchen table talking like two civilized human beings."

"Aw, c'mon. It's not that bad. Besides, you can't spend your sabbatical at a horse ranch and not ride a horse."

"Funny how I seem to be accomplishing just that."

"Just a few hours. Long enough to ride the perimeter." 

Rodney told himself firmly that having a grown man wheedle him, no matter how handsome that man might be, was not attractive or compelling in any way, shape or form.

"Just a few hours. I can't spare any more than that." He hated himself. He really did.

"Great. We can go on Sunday." He also tried to ignore the excited gleam Sheppard had in his eyes.

They'd fallen into the habit of eating dinner together, not at the table like they had that first night, but just standing around the kitchen. Sheppard was actually interested in Rodney's work, what little wasn't classified, and they exchanged stories about Antarctica. Apparently, Sheppard had been stationed there too, but Rodney didn't ask what punishment it was for.

Rodney was explaining his views on undergraduate physics when there was a knock on the kitchen door. Frowning, Sheppard went to answer it.

"Allina, hi," Sheppard greeted the woman on the other side, opening it to let her in. Rodney could tell his smile was forced, but the woman didn't seem to notice.

"Hi, John. I know what you eat, so when I heard that Marshall's nephew was staying here, I thought I'd take pity on you two lonely bachelors and be neighborly." She brandished a casserole dish with a bright smile and Rodney warmed towards her. Sheppard didn't seem swayed as he accepted it, though. She turned her focus on Rodney. "You must be Rodney. I'm Allina. Welcome to Pegasus."

"Thank you," he shook her offered hand. "I appreciate having some real food in the house."

"It's not a problem. I enjoy cooking and I always make too much. Besides, it was about time I stopped by to see how John was doing." 

Behind her, Sheppard rolled his eyes as he set the dish on the counter. 

"And I'm so sorry about your uncle, Rodney. I've told John, I just feel terrible about the whole thing. If I had just called sooner…"

"It's quite all right, Allina," Rodney quickly reassured her. "No one blames you, I'm sure." When she looked calmer, he waved a hand at the fridge. "Would you like something to drink?"

"Oh no, I'm afraid I can't stay," she said, putting her hand on his arm. "I just wanted to drop in and say hello."

She started back towards the door and Rodney followed, "It was a pleasure to meet you, and thanks again for the food."

"You're welcome." With a coy grin, she went out to where her horse was standing calmly. "I'll see you around, Rodney."

"Good-bye!" 

When he turned back into the kitchen, Sheppard was giving him an amused if rueful look. Rodney shrugged and went to poke his nose in the dish she brought.

"She's very nice," he said as he peeled back the tinfoil. "Very welcoming."

"Sure she is. If you discount the fact that she's hired four of our hands away from us, and that whole incident with Marshall, she's a perfect neighbor."

"You know, sarcasm is the recourse of a weak mind."

"I thought you said you were brilliant."

Rodney gave him a quelling look, then sniffed the chicken in the dish. "Oh, damn. Lemons."

Looking over his shoulder, John murmured. "Oh yeah, she's real nice."

Rodney rolled his eyes.

~~~

"So, Shep mentioned that he was taking you out on a trail ride later," Ford said casually as they followed the man in question's truck. 

Ford had volunteered to ride in Rodney's SUV when the scientist refused to be sandwiched in the cab of Sheppard's junkmobile, and the younger man delighted in flicking all the buttons on the dash, which no amount of threatening from the driver could deter.

"Yes, he is." Rodney said, swatting eager hands away from his GPS.

"You do know what that means, right?"

He looked away from the road at Ford's serious tone. "What?"

"We need to get you some real gear, Doc. You can't go riding in tennis shoes."

"In case you haven't noticed, there is a decided lack of shopping malls in the area," he pointed out, focusing on the road.

"There's a clothing store in town. We can get you outfitted proper there." Ford flashed his boyish grin. "Don't worry, doc. We'll take care of you. Just wait until we load the truck, then I can help you out."

"Thank you, Ford." Rodney was heartened by the offer.

"No problem, Doc."

Ford played with the radio until they hit town, and Rodney was tempted to drive his vehicle into a telephone pole. Or maybe just strangle the kid. There weren't that many witnesses around. Just two old men sitting under the gas station awning who seemed to be permanent fixtures, otherwise the few people on the streets just meandered from shop to shop. 

Sheppard slowed down in front of a flat-faced building that had "Pegasus Feed and Hardware" painted on a steel sign above the windows. Turning into the alley beside it, he pulled around to the loading docks and backed into a space. Rodney parked on the other side of the small back lot and they got out.

"We just need to pick up our feed order," Sheppard said when they approached. "Me and Ford can handle it if you wanna look around town, McKay. Just be back in half an hour or we'll come find you."

Ominous as that was, Rodney agreed as he carefully descended from the cab. "All right. I'm in need of a few supplies, so that works."

"Don't get lost," Ford smirked as he hopped down behind Rodney with the spryness of youth. 

Rolling his eyes, Rodney headed around the building to the main street.

There really wasn't much in Pegasus. The tractor and feed store was at the end of the… business district, which consisted of four other buildings and then turned into residential houses. Squinting, Rodney avoided the Western boutique and opted for what looked like a general store next to the diner. 

If he had been hoping to find any electronics more advanced than a hand calculator, he was sorely mistaken. There was, however, a household hardware section that proved satisfactory for his needs and he quickly made his purchase, along with more toothpaste and granola bars. 

Returning to the feed store before the given time, Rodney went in the front entrance and looked around at the various heavy machinery before Sheppard called out to him. 

"Hey, McKay," the rancher said with a smile, coming up next to him. "Be social for a second."

Warily, Rodney let Sheppard sling an arm over his shoulder and guide him to the counter.

"Rodney, I'd like you to meet Halling. He's our neighbor to the east." Sheppard said, gesturing to a rangy man with shaggy long hair. "Halling, this is Doctor Rodney McKay. He's Marshall's nephew."

Those were apparently magic words in these parts, because Halling's expression went from polite welcome to downright friendly almost instantly. Shaking Rodney's hand, the scruffy rancher pumped it enthusiastically.

"Good to finally meet you, McKay."

"Halling's another one of us refusing to sell out," Sheppard explained to Rodney, then said to the other man, "Rodney got a visit yesterday from some lawyer types. Scared them off right quick, though."

The pride in his voice made Rodney clear his throat. "Yes, well, work with the government for a few years and you pick up some useful idiot deflection skills."

"Really? I thought that was just your personality."

"We have also been visited," Halling said before the conversation could unravel further. "They've doubled their offer, and I must admit, it is tempting. I would be able to buy a new house and not worry about putting Jinta through college with the amount."

John laid a hand on his shoulder. "It's your home, Halling. You and Meeksha built that place up from nothing. Don't let them drive you out."

"I won't, but as I said, it's tempting, if only for a moment." The man looked honestly regretful. "But I know I could not move Jinta from here. After losing his mother, to lose his friends and home…"

"We'll get through it, don't worry." The conviction in Sheppard's voice made Rodney want to believe him, too. 

Ford came up to the counter then, grinning broadly. "C'mon, Doc. Time to do some shopping."

"Shopping?" Sheppard looked curious.

Rodney's cell phone trilled, so he was spared from answering. Glancing at the display, he waved a hand. 

"Excuse me, I need to get this." He walked quickly outside, followed by Ford, who just laughed off Sheppard's queries.

"Radek," he greeted the caller. 

"Rodney," his friend's heavily accented voice returned. "Is now a good time?"

"Not really. I'm in town, about to go shopping."

"You? Shopping? For what-Pegasus does not have electronics store, I'm afraid."

"Clothes." He frowned at his phone. "Shut up. You sound like an elephant seal when you laugh."

"Forgive me, Rodney." A final chuckle escaped. "I just remember last time you went clothes shopping. Ah, good times."

"Yes, I always enjoy public humiliation."

"Mm. I will call you later tonight, then, to give you update."

"You do that."

They hung up without saying goodbye, an old habit. Ford was looking at him curiously.

"So, where's this boutique?" He asked with a grimace.

"Right this way." Ford started walking. "They have boots, too, but those are for dudes. We'll look for a real pair in the tack shop. You need thick ones if you're gonna be walking around rattler territory."

"Rattler?" Rodney demanded in horror, pausing in the middle of the sidewalk.

"Yeah, Doc. They're everywhere out there."

Rodney hurried to catch up.

~~~

He had new trail clothes hanging in his closet and three pairs of sturdy boots on the floor, but Rodney was even less enthusiastic about his upcoming torment after getting advice from Ford. He was trying to concentrate on his manuscript when a light knock on his bedroom door interrupted.

"The guys and me are heading into town to hit the bar. You wanna come?" Sheppard settled against the doorway, and Rodney paused in his typing, looking at him askance. 

"What sort of bar?" He asked warily.

"A cowboy bar," Sheppard said with a guileless expression. "Where us cowboys go to marry our sisters and punch our horses."

Rodney glared. "You're not going to let me forget that, are you?"

"Nope," he said cheerfully. "It was the highlight of my week."

"My blood sugar was low. I can't be held responsible for anything I say. Besides, I told you not to wake me before noon."

"I stopped home for lunch and thought you were sick. Not my fault you sleep the day away."

When given the choice between going to a crowded smoky den of iniquity with Sheppard or staying in the empty house contemplating the ruin of his reputation while working on a physics textbook for dummies, Rodney decided that iniquity sounded pretty good.

"I don't drink anything except Canadian beer," he pointed out as he shut down his laptop. 

Sheppard shrugged. "Then you can be my DD."

"Gee, that sounds wonderful. Why can't I spend every Friday night like this?" He grumbled and shrugged into his jacket, shooing Sheppard out the door.

"Stick around long enough and you just might," was the rejoinder, accompanied with a cheeky grin.

Apparently Teyla was included in 'the guys' as well, and she cheerfully drove her extended cab pick-up with Ford, Stackhouse and Bates to the bar while Rodney was stuck in Sheppard's deathtrap. He clung to the seat.

"Slow down, you maniac!" Was the only thing he said to Sheppard on the way, too busy reciting the list of all the things he had wanted to accomplish before he died and now was never going to be able to.

"See, I got you here in one piece," Sheppard said smugly when they arrived. Rodney just glared at him and stumbled from the cab.

The inside was as smoky as he expected, with bad country music playing, but there was a larger crowd than he expected for the remote town. Apparently, everyone came out of the woodwork on Friday nights. 

The Circle A group gathered around a table in the back and the overwhelming number of greetings they received made Rodney's head spin. He didn't even bother trying to remember names. Funny how most of the ones who approached the table were female and single, and liked to lean forward in front of Sheppard.

After a few hours joking around with neighbors and friends, Teyla dragged Ford out to the dance floor and Bates went to woo some buxom redhead at the next table over. Stackhouse went to woo the Budweiser tap at the bar.

"See, Rodney, socializing's not so bad," Sheppard said as he elbowed him, speaking loudly to be heard over the music. 

"Define 'not so bad,'" Rodney muttered.

"What?"

"Oh look, it's your neighbor." He nodded towards Allina, who had just entered the bar ahead of a craggy-faced man who was scowling at everyone. "Who's the primate behind her?"

"Kolya." Sheppard glared. 

Allina spotted them, grabbing the man's arm and dragging him over to the table. "Rodney! John! Good to see you again."

"Allina," Rodney said when Sheppard just grinned with bared teeth.

"Rodney, this is my fiancé, Acastus Kolya. He's the sheriff around here." 

Rodney shook the man's hand, mustering a pleasant smile. "Hello."

"So you’re Marshall's nephew," Kolya observed in a raspy voice. "Hope you keep out of trouble better than he did." This was followed by a sharp glance at Sheppard, who had a bored expression on his face.

"Play nice, Acastus," his fiancée admonished with a laugh. "Well, you boys have fun."

They went over to one of the pool tables and Sheppard poured another glass of beer from the pitcher. Rodney leaned into his space to be heard.

"So that's the sheriff."

"Yup." Sheppard knocked back the rest of his mug. "You ready to head out?"

"Sure," Rodney said, surprised. Sheppard pushed away from the table, heading for the door while smiling cheerfully and saying goodbye to people. Rodney caught Teyla's eye and waved. She gave Sheppard a concerned look and nodded back.

True to his word, John gave Rodney his truck keys and climbed in the passenger seat. The rancher leaned back, rolling down the window and closing his eyes. Rodney thought he was asleep, but then he commented casually,

"It's generally not a good idea to have me and good ole Acastus in the same room for more than ten minutes at a time."

"Really."

"Yeah."

"You think he's in Rathe's pocket."

Sprawling in his seat, Sheppard opened his eyes and let his head flop to look at Rodney, "Let's just say, I have the feeling that the majority of campaign funds for our recently elected Sheriff Kolya were donated by locals who also just happen to be 'consultants' for the Rathe Development Firm. And Kolya's interests definitely don't coincide with us ranchers, so he has a tendency to drag his feet about things."

"How exactly did you piss him off?"

"Noticed that, huh?" Sheppard laughed ruefully. "I poked my nose in the wrong places. Now I can't drive anywhere after dark without getting pulled over."

"And yet you've filed several complaints about the incidents on the ranch with the local sheriff's office."

Sheppard gave an unamused snort. "Wanted it documented, for all the good that does us. Unless someone's holding an axe covered in blood, the police around here aren't going to do anything."

Rodney knew his skepticism was obvious when Sheppard explained slowly, "People know each other here, Rodney. It's a tight community. No one wants to go poking around in other people's business, because you have to live with what you turn up." 

"You wanted me and Jeannie to back off on the whole selling issue until you gathered enough evidence to force an investigation, but if they won't do anything, who will you tell?"

"I figured on turning everything over to the Staties. See if they'll listen."

"Well," Rodney said carefully. "You could always contact the FBI. It _is_ a matter of interstate jurisdictions if you can get the ranchers from the other projects to join you."

"We'll see," Sheppard said, closing his eyes again, pale as death in the dashboard lights.

~~~

Sunday dawned warm and sunny, which made Rodney's heart sink because he couldn't think of an excuse to get out of riding and the weather had been his last hope.

A brisk knock on his door at eight a.m. made him burrow deeper into his blankets. "Go 'way."

"Aw, come on, I let you sleep in an extra two hours, Rodney," Sheppard said cheerfully, tugging at his bedspread. 

The bastard finally succeeded in wrestling the quilt away from Rodney's grasp and was rewarded with a bloodshot glare. Sheppard retrieved a mug from the nightstand and held it up like a shield. 

"I come bearing coffee."

Rodney's nose twitched at the smell, and he figured he could forgive Sheppard just this once. 

Less than an hour later, he was down in the stables and eyeing the mare in front of him warily.

"You want me to put my own saddle on?" He asked again.

"Yeah. Best way to learn is by doing." 

"The best way to cripple myself is to climb on that beast's back, but it doesn't mean I have to do it willingly," Rodney said mulishly.

Sheppard merely looked at him until Rodney sighed and followed. The tack room smelled like leather and horses, which Rodney was slowly coming to like. Not that he would admit that to anyone else.

"Here," Sheppard stopped at a saddle resting on a pole coming from the wall. "This was Marshall's favorite. It's broken in and honestly the most comfortable one we have. I don't think he'd mind if you used it."

It didn't occur to Rodney until he was picking the saddle up awkwardly that it was probably the one Marshall had been using when he had the accident. He dropped the thing with a scandalized thump. Sheppard was looking at him confused and Rodney was about to let him have it when they were distracted by a metallic ping on the wooden floor.

There was a small thin needle with yellow feathers on its end lying on the dusty floorboards. Exchanging a questioning look with Sheppard, Rodney crouched down with him and watched as he gently picked the dart up by the feathers to examine it.

"I was just about to ask you if this was the saddle he used that day," Rodney said quietly. 

"Yeah, it is." Sheppard's voice was tight. "This must have been tucked under the saddle."

They looked at the dart again. 

"Y'know, this really doesn't look like a horse fly to me," Sheppard finally said. "But maybe we should have Dr. Beckett take a look at it, just to be sure."

"Sounds like a good idea."

Sheppard stopped in the kitchen to get a brown paper bag for the dart, and Rodney called Teyla to tell her where they were going. 

"I'll drive," Rodney offered.

"I'll get us there faster," John countered.

"But I'll get us there in one piece."

"Fine."

They took Rodney's SUV and just like Ford, Sheppard had to fiddle with everything he could reach on the dash.

"Is your sense of direction really that bad that you need a GPS?"

"Shut up before I wrap us around a telephone pole out of spite."

Beckett's clinic was on the outskirts of town and the lobby was empty when they came in. A bored looking secretary said they could go on back to the vet's office if they wanted.

Sheppard knocked on the door frame and the man at the desk looked up, smiling when he saw who it was.

"John, what brings you here?" His thick Scottish burr was incongruous with the setting.

"Got something for you to look at." Then he recalled that Rodney was with him. "Carson, this is Rodney. Rodney, Carson. You remember how Shady had those punctures on her neck and flank?"

"Aye, I do." Carson looked more alert.

"Could they have been caused by this?" Sheppard opened the bag and showed it to him. 

Carson peered into it, then pulled a pair of rubber gloves out of his scrub jacket. Holding the dart under the light on his desk, he frowned. 

"It's possible, John. Looks like there's still a wee bit of blood dried on it, so I can run some tests to find out for sure. It'll take me a week or two to get the results, since I have to send it away to Denver, but I'll let you know the second I hear back from them."

"Great. I don't suppose we'd be able to get any fingerprints off of it?"

Carson opened his mouth, but Rodney answered, "If the shooter was smart, he would have worn gloves, anyway. Plus, Marshall handled it as well, but I know some people who could check it out."

Nodding in agreement, Carson noted. "There were two puncture wounds, though. So where's the other one?"

"The shooter retrieved it?" Rodney ventured.

"I doubt it," Sheppard said. "Bates was there pretty quick after Marshall yelled. He would have seen someone running. So it either fell out and may still be in the field, in which case it could have been picked up after everyone left, or…"

"Or?" Rodney prompted.

"Or someone found it before then and didn't mention it." 

"So we look at everyone who went to the field that day."

"Yeah." Sheppard's expression was grim.

"Well," Carson said as he put the dart in a sample container. "All I can tell you here is if there even was a shooter."

"We appreciate, Carson."

"It's no problem here. I want answers just as much as you do, John."

Rodney waited until they were back in the SUV to mention casually, "Well, I guess it's too late for that ride now. You feel like stopping at the diner for breakfast?"

"You're not getting out of it that easy, McKay."

"Damn."

~~~

The next few days after the ride were mercifully quiet, minus a few phone calls from his colleagues. Which was good, because for the first night, Rodney could barely feel his legs and ass, then for the following two, he definitely _could_ feel everything and prayed for the numbness to return.

Rodney spent most of his time recuperating in his room and revising the manuscript. Kavanaugh had sneered when he heard that Rodney was writing an undergrad textbook, but Rodney figured that if he could keep just one more moron like Kavanaugh from joining his work force, then the effort was well spent. 

He was cleaning up one of the graphics when he heard the screen door downstairs slam open and the echoes of booted feet. Given that it was well before dinner and Sheppard had never gotten back this early in the few weeks Rodney had been there, he went down to investigate. 

"-told you, I'm fine," Bates was protesting as he entered the kitchen.

"You are not fine, Dean. Your wrist is already beginning to swell." Teyla was unruffled, deftly manipulating the joints of Bates' fingers.

"Ow, dammit!" Bates kept scowling even when she gave him an ice pack.

"You're going to the ER, Bates," Sheppard ordered in a voice no one would contradict. Glancing at Rodney then Teyla as he retrieved the truck keys, he asked, "Can you tell Ford and Stackhouse when they get back in?"

"Why not use the cell phones?" Teyla pointed out and Sheppard frowned.

"Oh, right." He unclipped his while motioning to Bates. "C'mon, let's get you to a doctor."

"Yes, sir." Bates glowered but went easily along. Rodney turned to Teyla.

"What happened?"

"Dean and John were repairing the loft window in the stable, and Dean's ladder broke." She washed her hands in the sink as she spoke, and Rodney realized she was in her pajamas. "My bedroom is near there, so I heard the commotion. John had managed to grab his arm and pull him through the window."

"Ah."

"Perhaps you and I can examine his ladder, Doctor," she suggested, a glint of anger in her eyes. "If I recall correctly, it is less than a year old."

They were still looking over the contents of the equipment storage shed for tampering when Sheppard and Bates returned. Teyla had gone out to the drive at the first sound of the truck tires on gravel, but Rodney was surprised when the shadow that fell over him belonged to Sheppard.

"How is he?" Rodney asked as he put the tractor engine back together.

"Sprained wrist, some cuts. Better than if he hadn't come through the window." The weariness was back in Sheppard's voice. 

Coming over to hitch himself up on the workbench, he watched Rodney's hands.

The next time he spoke, it was as unexpected as his words. "Maybe you _should_ sell, McKay."

"Excuse me?" Rodney spared him a disbelieving and scathing glance. "After all this, you think I'd just walk away? Maybe you should have gotten your head examined, too, while you were at the hospital."

"I'm serious here," Sheppard glared back. "We narrowly missed another nasty 'accident' today. What if we're not that lucky next time? We can't keep doing this."

"Yes, we can." Rodney set down his wrench and turned to look at Sheppard. "As a general rule, I try to place myself in as little danger as possible. I've heard people live longer that way. But that was before someone told me my uncle was murdered and I dug around this Rathe Corporation's past."

"This isn't a TV show, Rodney. Real life doesn't always have happy endings." 

"Real life _rarely_ has happy endings. That doesn't mean we should make it any easier for Rathe to keep destroying innocent lives. Just think about what you're saying! You're going to give up? Let them get away with it? What about the next ranch they do this to? What if those people have kids? You think that'll matter to these guys?"

Sheppard was silent.

"We can't just stand aside, not when we can stop them. Now quit being a brooding idiot and get your butt off my toolkit."

"You really suck, you know that?" Sheppard groused, but he wasn't holding it against Rodney which was a relief. "What're you doing to my tractor?"

"Well, after I found a few split hoses, I thought it would be best if I gave the engine an overhaul while I was at it."

"Split hoses, huh?"

"Wouldn't want the brakes to fail with a load of compost behind you, hm?"

"Good point."

"I have those frequently. Pass me that socket wrench." Attention fixated on the parts in front of him, he didn't notice how close Sheppard was until the other man handed him the wrench over his shoulder. Rodney tried not to jump at the warmth that suddenly blazed along his back. "Th-Thank you, Mr. Sheppard. I can handle the rest."

"John." The name was said quietly near his ear, hot breath on his neck that went straight to his groin.

"W-What?"

"Call me John." The teasing smile was evident in Sheppard's voice. 

"I'll call you worse than that if you make me drop anything here," Rodney snapped, regaining his composure. "A little elbow room, please?"

"You're pretty good with engines," John said absently, backing off. 

"It was a hobby back when I had free time," Rodney ground out, wishing the man away.

"That hose doesn't go there." Said so innocently, and Rodney tightened his grip on the wrench.

"I realize that."

"You're distracted," and there John was again, in Rodney's personal space. The scientist went to turn around but found himself unable to when he was trapped between two tanned, muscular arms. John leaned in to press his lips against the side of his neck, the only point of contact between them, sending shivers through all of Rodney's nerves.

"I-" He tried to get his brain to work. "I think-"

"What?" John murmured against his skin, trailing forward to his jaw.

"I think-" He swallowed. "If I don't reattach these brake hoses soon, oxygen will enter the pan and cause corrosion-" 

He broke off as John's finally reached his lips. The angle was awkward, but he didn't care. The man could kiss. His mouth covered Rodney's, warm and moist, teasing at his lips with the tips of his tongue until Rodney moaned and opened his mouth all the way, an invitation. He nipped John's lower lip and could feel the other man's groan like it was from his own chest. Panting, Rodney tried to follow when John pulled away.

"I'll let you get back to it, then," John said breathlessly with a smug grin, standing back to shove his hands in his pockets, which drew Rodney's attention to the front of his pants, and yeah.

Rodney wondered if this was how normal people felt all the time, like some drooling idiot with underdeveloped motor skills and impaired cognitive functions. Because John was walking out of the storage shed, whistling carelessly, and Rodney couldn't get his muscles to respond to basic commands.

He stared stupidly at his wrench until he heard Ford and Stackhouse talking as the rode past, but it still took him a minute to remember what he was doing.

~~~

The memory of John's kiss making him temporarily stupid again later that week was the only reason Rodney could find for why he was even contemplating agreeing with the man.

"Look, Rodney. We were already short-handed-"

"I think I'm a little over-qualified for shoveling horse manure, Mr. Sheppard. Do you know what sort of bacteria--"

" _Rodney._ "

"Two hours. I'll give you two hours a day."

"Done."

He was doomed.

Sweating profusely, Rodney dug out a handkerchief to mop his reddened face off. He staggered over to collapse on a bale of hay and tried to catch his breath.

This was hell, and he'd fallen for a devil in faithfully clinging Wranglers with experimental hair. No, worse, this was gym class all over again. He hadn't seen the inside of a weight room since his first year at MIT. Back then, he never thought his death would be from stroking out while knee-deep in horse manure. 

"Here, drink." 

A bottle of water was being waved in front of his face. Grabbing it, he didn't even respond before twisting the cap off and chugging. Blinking up at his savior, he raised an eyebrow at the amusement in Teyla's eyes.

"It will get better, Doctor," she said simply, seating herself next to him. 

Opening a lunch bag, she presented him with a paper-wrapped sandwich and then focused on her own. Three bites into his pastrami on rye and Rodney didn't care what sorts of noises he was making. 

"Oh, yes. I'd forgotten what real food tasted like. This is wonderful." He moaned around a mouthful.

Laughing softly, Teyla smiled at him before nodding at the clean stalls. "I thought you would appreciate a break. It's obvious that you have been working diligently these past days." 

"More like, it's obvious I have 'sucker' tattooed on my forehead," he muttered darkly, resisting the urge to lick the mustard off his grimy fingers. 

Crushing the paper into a ball, he leaned back against the hay, ignoring the sharp bits digging into his shirt as he closed his eyes.

"John has a way of convincing people to do uncharacteristic things," Teyla replied after a moment. "When I first met him, I was showing for a stable in Kentucky at a national competition. I had no real issues with my employers, and I had received numerous employment offers since I came here from Greece, but before John approached me, I hadn't given any thought to moving on. Yet, here I am."

"He's charming and he knows it," Rodney glowered, eyes still shut. "He does that lazy drawl thing and people bend like taffy for him."

"But he does not allow anyone close to him easily," she countered. "He makes friends quickly enough, but none of us, even those who have known him the longest, really know what he's thinking…"

Something clenched in Rodney's chest at her words. He remained silent, and soon Teyla gathered the remains of lunch.

"You should know, Dr. McKay," she said quietly, "that your assistance has come as a relief to all of us here. John was so determined to seek justice for Marshall, he had been running himself into the ground and letting his guilt slowly fester. We had feared for him, but now…" 

Rodney opened his eyes when she trailed off. She was waiting for him to look at her, and she smiled. 

"Now he has hope again. And we are all grateful for that."

He could feel his cooled cheeks flushing again, but she just gently touched him on the shoulder and stood. "I'll see you after dinner."

Nodding stupidly, he watched numbly as she left the stables. Sheppard-- _John_ had hope again?

Why was Rodney doing this to himself?

~~~

The season opener was Rodney's first horse show, and he looked around curiously after they parked the trailer and RV in their reserved lot. There were horses. Everywhere. And people in gaudy Western outfits with bright colors and huge belt buckles. He felt like he had fallen down the rabbit hole.

"We're in luck," Ford said, rubbing his hands together gleefully. "Chaya's running the food stand this year, so we'll have some edible grub. She makes the best chili dogs in the county."

"As long as it isn't an MRE, I don't care what it tastes like."

"I heard that," John called from inside the RV.

"That was the point," Rodney responded, sharing a grin with Ford. 

Teyla led her stallion, Shady's Gabriel, out of the short trailer hitched to her truck. 

"Why don't you show Rodney around, Aiden? I'm sure he is curious."

From the doorway of the RV, John said, "Yeah, Ford. Make sure he stays out of trouble."

"Like _I'm_ the one who starts things." 

"There are still several hours until the show begins," Teyla interrupted smoothly. "We can gather again before then."

Properly chastised, the boys went about their ways.

~~~

The sky was darkening behind the floodlights when Rodney came to stand beside John at the fence. The rancher certainly looked pleased as he watched Teyla lead Gabe through his cool down paces.

"By my calculations," Rodney flipped through the little notebook he'd been tracking points in, "if she scores high in pleasure and open command tomorrow, we will most likely take high point champion and first in show. Ima Sugar Substitute and Rumor Has It's A Jack are our only real competition." 

"Teyla will take first," John said simply.

The inherent faith he had in Teyla might have given Rodney a quick pang of jealousy, but the fact was she knew what she was doing and they had a fine horse. _Rodney_ would be willing to bet that they'd take first.

So he nodded his agreement and watched as she navigated around the other horses in the ring. She sat a horse beautifully, and if he didn't know that she considered John like a brother, he might have been truly jealous because John was watching her every move.

Another female rider guided her horse around the others until she drew parallel with Teyla.

"Hey, who's that?" Rodney asked, glancing at John in time to catch his smile turn grim.

"Sora. She used to work for us." John's frown deepened. "Wonder what she has to say."

Watching the two women speak, Rodney shrugged. "Maybe she's just saying hello."

"I doubt it-"

Sora's stallion spooked suddenly, wildly side-stepping towards Teyla and Gabe. Throwing back his head, Gabe quickly reared away from the other horse and they watched in horror as Teyla's entire tack fell away from his back. Releasing the reins, Teyla dropped to the ground with her saddle.

John was over the fence and running in a heartbeat. Rodney quickly followed. The other riders were clearing away from Teyla and Gabe now stood quietly at her side. Sora had gotten her horse under control, but it still snorted and tossed its head in warning.

"Teyla," John dropped to her side. "Are you all right?"

She struggled to push the saddled away, so John helped to disentangle her. Even as John told her to not to move, Rodney knew something was wrong from her strained expression. 

She mumbled in Greek, then said clearly, "There is a great deal of pain in my right leg."

"Could someone get the EMTs?" John called out to the crowd that had gathered. A Scottish brogue could be heard demanding to be let through. 

"Let me see," Carson said, bringing a first aid kit with him.

"You're a medic?" Rodney asked.

"I volunteer," he answered briskly. He quickly checked Teyla's vitals and asked her about her limbs. Feeling gently along her right leg, he looked up at her. "We'll want to get this x-rayed, lass. Just wait for the stretcher to come and try not to move."

The ride to the ER was tense. Ford had stayed behind to look after Gabe, but he wasn't happy about it, and John looked like he was ready to shoot someone. Sora had made some noise about how she didn't know what happened, her horse had just spooked as all horses were occasionally wont to do. 

Rodney sat in the waiting room, watching John pace angrily back and forth outside. He had been surprised when the rancher had bummed a cigarette off of a woman smoking in the designated area beyond the ER doors, but Rodney hadn't said anything. Just sat inside and waited to hear from the doctors.

They still hadn't heard anything when Ford showed up. John looked ready to tear his head off, but the younger man quickly explained that Halling and Jinta were watching Gabe, and Ford had shown Teyla's saddle to the circuit authorities. 

The cinch had been cut.

Rodney gripped John's tense shoulder until the man stopped swearing and sat down. 

"You will have to finish the show for me, John," Teyla said calmly when they were finally able to see her. She had been admitted overnight with a broken ankle.

"I have no clue how to show a horse," John said roughly, arms crossed defensively over his chest.

"Of course you do. You have watched me many times, and Aiden and Rodney will be there to help you."

"For all the good that does me."

Rodney glared. "We're far enough ahead in points today that we might still place even if you turn out a mediocre performance. So we'll just have to make sure you don't."

"You will be fine, John." Teyla's eyes were starting to drop shut. "It is pleasure and open command. Just remember not to look at the judges and listen for them to say please before the commands, and you'll be all right."

John didn't look convinced, but he didn't protest anymore either.

~~~

The next morning, tempers were short and Gabe obviously picked up on it, acting skittish until John sat down under the RV's awning to calm down. Offering him a Styrofoam coffee cup, Rodney sat in the folding chair next to him.

Sipping from his own cup, Rodney leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees.

"Forget about them," he said. "Forget about blaming yourself. Forget about being angry. Because you can do this with a clear head. We know that, and so do you." 

Standing, he dug the truck keys out of his pocket and went to pick Teyla up.

John did better than fine. He placed third overall in show, which was relatively unheard of for a rookie trainer in a circuit that size. 

"Funny how you've been working with horses for how long now, Shep, and we've only just realized you're a prodigy," Ford elbowed him as they admired his ribbon.

"I got points off for my presentation, though," John frowned. "I kept forgetting to look ahead."

"We're cowboys, sir. Looking around is ingrained."

"I won't bother saying I told you so," Rodney interjected at that point. "But Teyla said to inform you that you will be training for Congress as soon as we get home."

"Congress?" John looked taken aback. "We still have some time. Her cast'll be off before then." 

"She still has physical therapy after that," Rodney reminded him. "But maybe you should concentrate on the regional circuit for now."

The three of them looked at the ribbon.

"You wanted to improve our reputation, right?" Rodney smiled. "I think you succeeded, Mr. Sheppard."

"Yeah," John grinned. "I think I did."

~~~

Even though she was still painkillers, Teyla insisted on starting John's training as soon as the doctors cleared her for crutches. With two workers injured, Rodney juggled the books a bit (and maybe took a chunk out of his own account) to hire on another hand. So John was able to spend the next two weeks in the ring with Gabe, and Rodney started taking his laptop outside with him to work in the shade of the stables.

After the first week of training, John started to relax. He was a fast learner and the horses responded easily to him. He came in at night dripping with sweat and grime, but a fire was lit in his eyes that had been missing for a while.

"Got Gabe to pivot perfectly for me," John said smugly as he sauntered into the kitchen, still toweling his hair. "Teyla thinks I might have a chance in hell of placing now."

It was Rodney's turn to boil the water, so John had gone to take a shower in the meantime. By the time he came down, the food packets were waiting on the countertop.

"How reassuring, given that there's only two days until the show." Rodney handed him his MRE with a dry smile. "Now you just need to work on your own presentation, and we're set."

"Hey, I was raised with manners. Someone's speaking to you, you pay attention."

"Since they docked points because you looked at them, I think the judges are willing to forgive your rudeness."

"Yeah, yeah." Poking at his chicken tetrazzini with his fork, John's expression became more serious. "I heard from Carson today."

Rodney focused on him. "Well?"

"The blood was Shady's. Better yet, the dart had a manufacturer's number on it. If we can find the box it came from, we can find our shooter."

"That doesn't help us much if we don't have any suspects," Rodney frowned as he continued eating.

"I've been thinking about that… What if it was someone at the scene who took the other dart? Like maybe one of the officers that responded to the call, such as Bryan Gerret, Allina's brother and the sheriff's future in-law?"

"A possibility, but how do we prove it and how do we connect him to the shooter?"

"We wait for them to slip up, and then we get some hard evidence," John said with a smile. Then he really looked at Rodney and his eyebrows drew together.

"What?" Rodney demanded.

"You look tired."

"We can't all be models, Mr. Sheppard," he sniffed. 

John gave an amused snort, but his tone was serious. "If you-- you know, need to take some time off from all the ranch stuff to work on your book, we can manage. We've got more people now. Ronon's pretty impressive with the horses."

Arching an eyebrow primly, Rodney sniffed. "Yes, I believe everyone is aware of your opinion on Ronon's skills."

Instead of getting offended, John grinned smugly. "You're jealous."

"Don't be absurd," Rodney scoffed. "Why would I be jealous of a man who speaks in monosyllables and gets to muck out the stalls, which means I no longer have to?"

Placing his MRE on the counter next to Rodney, John leaned in close. "I kinda miss seeing you all sweaty and struggling out there."

Rodney decided it was safer to stop eating than risk inhaling his food. He set the pouch aside. "I knew you were a sadist."

"Not a sadist," John murmured as he moved to kiss Rodney, "Just turned on by stubbornness."

"Then you must be a masochist," Rodney said, closing the gap between them. 

There were a million reasons Rodney shouldn't be doing this. He didn't need this heart break, didn't want some casual fling. His career was in a precarious position at the moment, anyway, and if this textbook wasn't accepted, it could be the beginning of the end. He really didn't need to add more confusion and anxiety to the mix.

But none of that mattered when John was kissing him like he was the only person on the planet. Lazy and sweet, as if they had all the time in the world, and it was addictive. He settled his hands on John's hips, pulling him closer, and the full body contact made him gasp into John's mouth. 

John settled between his legs, pinning him to the counter, and Rodney didn't care that he was trapped. As long as John kept licking the inside of his mouth and grinding their bodies together, the world made sense and he could believe in happily ever afters. 

"Let's move this upstairs," John murmured, tangling Rodney's hand in his and pulling him towards the stairs.

All Rodney could do was hold on and follow.

~~~

Rodney's cell phone trilled an hour later, waking him with a start. First, he realized the bed was empty, then that his cell phone was still in his pants.

"Yes, what?" He snarled once he found it.

"Your friend, Sheppard," Zelenka asked, "He is a tall man, yes? With gravity-defying hair?"

"That's him," Rodney answered without thinking, then snapped fully awake. "Why, what's going on?"

There was the sound of a car door opening. "Nothing big. He is merely breaking into Kolya's house. I will be one moment. If I don't call back in five minute, I most likely have been shot."

"WHAT?"

Zelenka hung up, leaving Rodney staring at the phone in his hand. What the hell was going on? And what did John think he was doing? 

He was dressed and pacing when his cell rang again, surprising him into nearly dropping it. He fumbled it open.

"Yes? Hello? Radek?"

"I am fine, Rodney." Zelenka's amused tones actually calmed him for a second. "And I kept your friend from making very stupid mistake."

"Is he all right? Is he with you now? Can I talk to him?" His words tumbled together.

"He said he is on the way home. Whether he was telling truth, I don't know. But I would not be surprised if he came straight to see you." The mirth in the Czech's voice made Rodney eye the door warily.

"Why's that?"

"He is sharp man. Not easily fooled. I'm afraid I had to tell him my real purpose to dissuade him from breaking law." And Zelenka trying to improvise at first probably didn't help things.

"I take it he didn't take it well."

"Not so much, no. And he didn't stay to listen to full explanation. After I told him who I was and my employer, he seemed quite intent on going home."

Rodney's gut flip-flopped. A spectrum of possible scenarios raced through his mind, most of which involved either outright lying to John or abandoning all dignity and groveling. But Zelenka didn't sound overly concerned, so maybe it wasn't all blown to hell.

"All right. Okay." He didn't like odd quality to his own voice. "It's not so bad. I'll just explain things when he gets here. And you're sure no one saw either of you?"

"No one else is here. I was just leaving myself when I see old truck creep up without headlights on. So I stayed, then called you."

"Good, good." He sank down onto his bed. "Thanks, Radek. I owe you one."

"Actually, I still owe you twice after this, but who is counting?" Zelenka tried to sound casual, but the offhand comment was underscored with sincerity. "You go explain things to your friend, and do not be too mean to him. I like this one."

The call disconnected before Rodney could respond, as was Zelenka's usual habit, so Rodney was left to wait for John's return. Setting the phone aside, he shut down his laptop and went to his filing cabinet. Scanning his thumb, he pulled the drawer out and flipped through to the folders in the very back.

He had done nothing to be ashamed of, he reminded himself. He was just covering all of their bases and getting evidence they could use against the Rathe and Kolya. Frowning, he broke the seal on the folders and took the contents downstairs, to the kitchen. He made neat stacks of papers and photos, categorized by person and date. 

He turned the coffee machine on and started pacing again.

John was a bright, intelligent guy. Surely he wouldn't hold this against Rodney. He had planned on telling him soon, anyway. The fact that they were… involved now didn't change anything.

That didn't keep him from freezing in the middle of the living room when he heard the growl of the truck come up the drive. A few moments later, the screen door banged open, but John's angry steps faltered in the kitchen. Bracing himself, Rodney went to the doorway.

John was beyond livid.

"You had a PI following me?" John demanded. His eyes were hard and cold. "I'm not the criminal here, Rodney."

"If you had listened to him, you would know that I hired him to investigate the Rathe," Rodney snapped defensively. "That led him to Kolya, and he's had him under surveillance. The fact that _you_ are apparently suicidal is what caught his attention tonight, and that's why he called me. That's all. He wasn't tailing you, he was just gathering information and you blundered into his way." 

"And just when were you gonna tell me about him, huh?" John glared. "I thought we were partners in this, Rodney."

"Look, I hired him before I got to know you, all right? It was after our first meeting, I wasn't sure if I was even going to come out here, so I thought it was a good idea to have a PI on all of it." Rodney's voice rose higher. "Which was obviously sound thinking on my part, because you could have been killed. Are you insane, trying to break into a cop's house? The _sheriff's_ house, no less. He'd have every legal right to shoot you, John."

"I waited until he was out on a call. I knew he wasn't home."

"That's why you had a police scanner in your truck? So you could break into the sheriff's house?"

"We need to get hard evidence on them, Rodney," John said firmly. "You heard what Beckett said. The darts have manufacturer numbers on them. If I can prove that Kolya had something to do with Marshall's death, we can bust this thing wide open."

"Are you even listening to yourself?" Rodney sputtered. "Even if you found the right box of darts, you _broke in_ to his house to get them, so if anything, he could just say that _you_ were the one who did it and are trying to frame him. It won't work. We need to find something that will stick in court."

"Then what am I supposed to do?" John snapped. "Just let it go? Unless there's something else you haven't told me, I don't see much that I can do."

Rodney tried not to look guilty, and John just stared at him.

"I also have bank and telephone records from Kolya and Allina, as well as some financial information on the Rathe Corporation. It's enough to get them on lesser charges, but not murder. Not yet. I need more time to think."

"Fine." John went to the stairs. "While you're thinking, I'm going to bed."

Rodney didn't ask which bed, because the bitter answer was obvious. He had no one to blame but himself for getting involved. He should have known better by now.

With a sigh, he sat down at the table and went through the file contents again. He just had to connect the dots…

~~~

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Elizabeth asked for the third time. "He _is_ the sheriff. This can turn out very ugly."

"We're not wrong," John said, tapping his hat on his thigh. "It'll be fine. Besides, back-up is in the next office over. You don't have to worry about a thing."

"I worry, John. It's what I do." 

Her smile was wry, but she had put on her courtroom persona of the cool, cutting lawyer. She was the perfect choice as mediator for Rodney's plan.

The scientist listened to the two of them talking, but he was mostly focused on the next stage. Zelenka was in the other corner of the room, going over his files, and really, Rodney was just glad to have him out of the way. Radek had been giving him and John knowing looks that hadn't helped anything.

"Anything else you've forgotten to share?" John asked under his breath when Rodney came to stand beside him.

He supposed he deserved that. "I think you know as much as I do at this point."

John looked skeptical.

The representatives from the Rathe Corporation arrived on time, and Elizabeth sat them down at her conference table, having her assistant bring them coffee. Rodney and John took the seat across from them, and the creepy smiles were back.

"I believe we're waiting on two more attendees, gentlemen, then we can proceed," Elizabeth informed them with a smile. Her assistant returned with the coffee carafe, holding the door open for Kolya and Allina. "Ah, and here we have our final guests. Acastus, Allina, please have a seat."

"What's the meaning of this, Elizabeth?" Kolya demanded, remaining standing. He had paused inside the door when he noticed John and Rodney.

"As I told you on the phone, Sheriff, we have a delicate matter to discuss with you and Ms. Gerett. It also involves the Rathe Corporation, so we invited their representatives as well."

"You see, Sheriff," Rodney spoke up. "The Circle A has been conducting its own investigation into certain matters, and what we found is most interesting."

Opening the folder in front of him, Rodney carefully laid out the pictures on the table. Kolya expression stayed stoically blank, but Allina paled noticeably.

"You'll note that these are all dated for easy reference." Rodney grinned. "First, we have you and your lovely fiancée dining with the vice president of the Rathe Corporation in Denver. A dinner date which happens to correspond with a large cash dispersal by the Seras Corporation, which we have proof here," he tapped a piece of paper, "that it's actually a dummy corporation for the Rathe. Funny how Seras just happens to be a major contributor to your campaign, too, Sheriff. When we looked into the other corporate donations, we found four that were also dummy corporations established by Rathe, and one even listed Allina Gerret as a local consultant."

Spreading out a pile of faxes and newspaper clippings, Rodney looked directly at Kolya. "You'll find here public records of your campaign funding and expenditure, as well as your tax records and property licenses. Unsurprisingly, they were all calculated using a method more akin to fuzzy logic than any accounting practices I'm aware of. The IRS is going to love you."

The Rathe representatives weren't smiling anymore.

"Of course, that's just tax evasion, bribery, and campaign fraud," Rodney said offhandedly. "What we'd really like to discuss with you is conspiracies. Namely, the one you orchestrated on behalf of the Rathe Corporation to drive local ranchers off their lands and depreciate real estate prices. The one that cost Marshall Sumner his life."

"This is preposterous!" Kolya growled. 

"I think not. You see, this picture here, is Bryan Gerret trespassing on Circle A property in the middle of the night. And here he is sabotaging the brake lines of a tractor. These are remarkably crisp for night photos, don't you think?"

"Yes," Zelenka spoke up, "Is very clear. My favorite night camera, actually. Very advanced technology."

"I like the composition of the photo as well, very balanced. You can even see the edge of the knife here," he held up a magnifying glass. "But that's beside the point. The point is, in this picture over here, you're passing your future brother-in-law an envelope of money that later appeared in an offshore account created from _your_ computer terminal at the station. You probably didn't realize he had done that, because you were much more careful when making your own. Maybe you should have been more concise in your instructions?"

A vein was standing out in Kolya's forehead. Allina had sat down quietly in a chair.

"This is all circumstantial," the sheriff ground out. "It doesn't prove any sort of conspiracy."

"One might think that, if deposits to that account didn't coincide with almost every act of destruction and vandalism reported at the Circle A. Except horse poisoning. So. Moving on," Rodney pulled out the next photo. "Here is a picture of you paying Steve Wren, a former employee of Circle A, $10,000.00 in cash. The second to last payment for services rendered, according to him." 

At this point, Zelenka stepped forward. "Steve is willing to testify in court that he was paid $100,000.00 to feed locoweed to the Circle A's champion stud, Ima Dusty Zippo."

"That's his word against mine," Kolya ground out.

"Ah, but you see," Zelenka said solemnly, holding up a plastic bag with a mini-recorder in it. "You should be more careful about who you commit felonies with, Sheriff Kolya. We were very lucky. Steve had every intention of blackmailing you if he needed funds in future, and so he taped your conversations. When we brought our investigation to his attention, he was more than willing to cooperate."

"Apparently Steve is afraid of facing murder charges," John drawled. "We told him that we had evidence of police corruption and he got very nervous. Turns out an officer of the law threatened to arrest him if he didn't assist in two little operations. One involving a cinch strap at a horse show, and the other involving dart guns and jammed fences, I believe?"

Kolya was rigid. Allina was shaking. Rodney took some satisfaction in that.

"Of course," he took over again, "Steve is saying that he merely closed the gate behind Marshall. You were the one lying in wait behind the fence with a dart gun. Tell me, Sheriff, do you smoke?" Kolya didn't respond. Rodney held up another picture. "Let me guess, Marlboro's, right? You must have been waiting a while.

"The thing is, your plan probably would have worked, except Bryan didn't get both of the darts. He only found one. And Dean Bates was so focused on helping Marshall that he didn't notice it, but he also didn't notice that Marshall had slipped the other dart under his horse's saddle."

John tossed the bag with the dart onto the tabletop. 

"The blood is a match to Shady's," Rodney said, "and we were in fact able to lift partial latent prints off of it. Guess who's? I should also note at this point, that your phone records have been accessed as well as Allina's. You must have panicked when Bates showed up, because you called Bryan's cell phone to ensure he would be first in the area when the 911 call went through."

Silence descended in the conference room, broken when John said quietly,

"You threw your whole life away, helped ruin other people's, just for money." He looked hard at Kolya. "Was it worth it?"

Kolya stared stonily at John, "Marshall wasn't meant to die. He was to be injured, discredited. A message for the other protesters to desist and accept the offers given to them."

"Then I'd say you failed, because no one's selling now." John's expression was grim, but his gaze never wavered.

"Yes. One could say I did."

Elizabeth cleared her throat. "As you've probably guessed, Sheriff Kolya, the initial evidence was sufficient to establish probable cause and obtain search warrants for your property, as well as Ms. Gerret's and her brother's, and to also have your phones tapped."

"You don't have authority to do any of this," Kolya said indignantly.

"No, you're right. _We_ don't."

Then the conference room doors were opening and a tall man with a lined face was introducing himself, flanked by a team of agents.

"Hello, Sheriff. Name's Agent Jack O'Neill, FBI. We've got a few questions to ask you, if you'd just come with us. Ms. Gerret, I'm afraid we're going to have to bring you in, too…"

~~~

Rodney zipped his duffel bag shut and slung it over his shoulder. His laptop was already down in the car, he just needed to say his good-byes.

A scuff from the doorway made him look up, and John was slouched against the frame, tapping his hat on his leg. They stared at each other for an awkward moment, then Rodney looked away.

"I left the feed invoices on top of the desk, but they've already been entered in the computer," he finally said inanely. "You just need to file them."

"Thanks." John studied the floor. "So how's the manuscript?"

"Finished. I sent it off to my editor yesterday. It'll be a few months before I hear back."

So awkward, and this was why Rodney didn't do relationships, didn't do trust.

"Well--" Rodney started to say at the same time John said, "I'm sorry."

"Excuse me?" Rodney blinked.

"I overreacted about the whole Zelenka thing. It surprised me, and I didn't like that you kept it from me, but I was an ass about it. So… Sorry."

“Yes, well.” He smiled crookedly at John. "You don't need to apologize. I should have told you sooner. It would have saved you a trip to Kolya's."

John snorted. "Well, it got things rolling, didn't it?"

"I _had_ planned on calling O'Neill in at some point, you know. I just ended up doing it sooner than I expected."

"Yeah… Thanks. For everything." John met his gaze and Rodney shook his head.

"It was the right thing to do."

Keeping his gaze on Rodney, John set his hat on the nearest dresser. 

"Jeannie called me earlier this week."

"She did?" Rodney blinked at the subject change.

"Yeah. Before-- everything happened. She said she still planned to sell her share, and that you agreed we needed to have that talk."

"Ah, yes. That was-- before."

"So you plan to sell, too?" John looked out the window. "If you want to, I won't get in your way."

The bleakness in John's tone was a physical ache in Rodney's chest, and he found himself answering honestly.

"Actually, I had planned to buy Jeannie's share from her. Not as much as Rathe was offering her, but a fair price with a portion of my profits going to her each year. She wants it for the boys and I figured, I would have given it to them anyway…"

John was staring at him again, expression lightening. "Thought you didn't want to do the silent partner thing. Something about a fancy job in Denver and hating horses."

"Well, the whole horse smell kind of grows on you. Or you stop noticing it after awhile, I think. And I've been offered a position at NORAD, just south of Colorado Springs. The job in Denver was getting stagnant anyway."

A smile was hovering in John's eyes. "And the silent partner thing?"

Rodney stepped closer to him. "I'm not exactly the silent type. Some might even call me loud."

"Really? Hadn't noticed that."

"Shocking, I know."

The smile grew across John's face and he reached for Rodney's hand. Rodney met him halfway.

"Colorado Springs, huh?" John stepped into the room, still smiling. "That's less than an hour from here up route 24."

"That _would_ be a shorter commute than driving from Denver." Rodney leaned forward.

"And you already own a nice spread down here. Well, a third of one, anyway."

"Half, actually. Once I get this guy to sign some papers."

"Half?"

"Yeah, fifty-fifty. Partners. If he wants."

"I don't know. Apparently, you smell weird, you're ill-tempered, and you're high maintenance..."

Breaching the space between them, Rodney shut him up with a kiss. They didn't speak again for quite some time. When Rodney pulled back, John grinned.

"...but I think I can be convinced."

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr


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